


Death or Salvation

by hardkourparcore



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i never hecking know how to tag these things, is that okay? is this that fic?, smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 23:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardkourparcore/pseuds/hardkourparcore
Summary: Arvis accompanies Claude on a trip to the tower in Orgahill, and expects to die for it.





	Death or Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted some claudvis

This had not been Arvis' smartest plan.

He had a complicated relationship with religion already, owing in no small part to the circumstances surrounding his birth. He believed in the gods, as did any Grannvalian, but he believed Saint Maera was in fact, a saint, and kept such reverence to himself. His mother taught him the small ways to honor their saint, and he'd kept these secrets to himself, behind closed doors, for the past fifteen years or so.

He went to church and listened and prayed, but not to the gods he was sure had damned him before he was even born.

To him, Saint Maera was an idol to aspire to. He was a man who had fought against injustice at great risk to himself, and even if his efforts first failed, it was he that sparked a movement that had improved the lots of the entire continent. Even if he was villainized – or perhaps because he _had_ been, in spite of everything he accomplished, it was a legacy worth emulating. The self didn't matter: just the goal.

But to revere Saint Maera was no better in the eyes of the Grannvalian church than worshiping Loptyr, and should Arvis' beliefs come to light, he'd be summarily burnt for apostasy, and that was not something he ever planned to experience. So while he went to church and prayed to the same gods those around him did, he ostracized himself in the interest of safety. He kept an aloof distance to the teachings, never discussed religion in detail, and did his best to appear a pious man without disclosing his unique practices or indulging in those he didn't believe in.

For example, many members of the church made it a point to, at least once in their lives, take a pilgrimage to a large tower in Orgahill to pray. Over time, it became known as Braggi Tower, after one of the heroes who bore holy blood to drive evil's influence from the land. The church was centered on the Braggi blood line. Its scion, Duke Claude of Edda, held the highest position in the church's hierarchy, outside of his political duties, and to Arvis' knowledge, it had been an inherited position alongside major Braggi blood, and its holy weapon. Naturally, being in such a position in the exact organization that killed men like Arvis (or even those just assumed to carry the stain of unholy blood) would mean Arvis should avoid Claude at all costs.

Yet, he didn't.

There was something about Claude that made the subtle fear that crept into the back of Arvis' throat at the mention of the chuch tolerable. He was kind, unwaveringly (probably because he didn't know Arvis' curse), and he was beautiful. For whatever reason, it was Duke Edda that allied with Velthomer whenever Arvis proposed some progressive law that the rest of Grannvale disliked. While at first, Arvis had assumed it was some shrewd maneuvering on Claude's behalf, time had clarified Claude was not so shrewd politically, and confirmed there was something a little more to it.

In essence, they were friendly at work, and Claude was friendly outside of it. He was handsome, and Arvis didn't mind entertaining him briefly should the opportunity arise.

In all the books Arvis read in his spare time, an element of danger could often be portrayed as sexy, and so far that was the only real explanation or justification Arvis had for allowing himself to be so close to a man that could so easily (and probably willingly) end his life.

And yet dangerous, hopeless, stupid romance couldn't explain how Arvis Velthomer found himself standing outside of Braggi Tower, waiting patiently for Claude to emerge.

Claude said he took a pilgrimage like this once a year, and the trip was usually safe enough to go alone, but he would not say no if Arvis would like to take his pilgrimage alongside Claude as an escort. Claude preferred not to fight, and he was lousy at it, so if he ran into trouble (which he doubted would happen), he'd probably end up hurt.

Arvis had agreed entirely too quickly... But Claude had been pleased, smiled amiably, and those green eyes twinkled.

Arvis kicked a rock.

The blond had been pleasantly conversational the entire trip, and nothing but kind. He bad Arvis entry into the tower.

“The upper floors are sealed from those without Braggi blood,” he'd said. “But it's cooler inside and the lower floors have plenty of history and places to pray.”

“It's okay,” Arvis had replied. “It's enough on the outside, too.”

It felt off-limits to him. He'd wondered if he wouldn't just burn to step foot inside of it.

Left outside with his nerves, he entered a quiet panic. While it could never touch his stoic face, his mind ran rampant with all sorts of terrible outcomes that this stupid excursion could end in. Claude's blood meant praying at this tower would bestow him with truths given from Saint Braggi himself. If he asked the right questions, he could learn Arvis was tainted, as was the entire Fjalar line, now. Maybe he wouldn't even have to ask: surely Braggi would want his own bloodline far away from sin that he'd just offer that information without prompting.

He fully expected Claude to, upon exiting the tower, berate Arvis and arrest him, take him to the nearest village and burn him on the stake. And Arvis would go, because... What else could he do?

What could a man do when faced with his death? Arvis chose to kick rocks, look mournfully out to sea, and pace in agitation.

He circled the tower twice by now, examined the rocks and walls that created it. There was a plaque near the door. For the most part, the inscription was worn away with time. Scratches might have vandalized it in the past. Arvis had wondered which angry cultist might take offense to a monument to Braggi, and felt responsible for it somehow.

It felt like an eternity that he'd been wasting time with his anxious thoughts. Claude eventually returned, eyes red and puffy. Arvis looked at him expectantly, and Claude began weeping.

Images of taking the priest into his arms and consoling him crossed Arvis' mind, but he was unworthy of such things, and Claude must want him dead already. Instead, he looked back at the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asked, as if they didn't both already know the problem.

“Arvis... I'm so sorry.”

_Here it comes_.

He took a deep breath in, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. All the tension was there – in his hands. He chanced a glance upwards to watch Claude move towards him, covering his mouth and nose daintily with one hand.

“You're crying,” he said, lamely. There wasn't a use in hiding it now, but if Claude still didn't know, Arvis would not be the one to tell him. He stood there, stiff, as the priest closed the distance between them.

One of his hands was taken by both of Claude's, and he allowed his fingers to be pressed between Claude's palms, almost in a comforting gesture. It probably would have felt comforting, if the priest weren't ready to kill him.

“Saint Maera...” Claude murmured distantly, looking at their hands and not at Arvis' face.

He knew. He knew.

Arvis felt surprisingly calm. But there were hardly any other options. Fighting or fleeing would be hopeless endeavors, and he couldn't very well kill the scion of a crusader for something he knew was an inevitable fate.

So he stayed silent. And Claude continued.

“You carry his blood.”

“I do.”

Beside him, his free hand was trembling. His knuckles were white with the effort of stilling it, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palm tight enough to sting.

“I'm so sorry,” Claude repeated. “That you've had to carry such a curse...”

_And now you must die_, Arvis finished in his head.

Their hands moved. Claude held his hand in both of his, in a way that might be romantic if there were any romance to be found here. He tugged, gently, clearly intending to lead Arvis into the tower. Maybe there was something to his earlier thinking – could stepping inside really kill him?

He relented, with no other option, and Claude quietly ushered him inside of Braggi Tower.

The architecture inside was gorgeous. It would have been lovely to examine up close, and for now Arvis wasn't yet on fire, so that was decent. He might have liked to be there in a different situation, if he had been born differently.

“Arvis...” Now, Claude seemed to have the courage to face him, eye-to-eye. He still held Arvis' hand, but one arm fell away, and it was just his fingers clasped around Arvis'. “You said you've never been here before...”

What did that have to do with anything? And what was Claude waiting for? _Just get it over with_.

“This is...” Claude smiled, strangely. “...Maera Tower... Lord Braggi built it with the intention to honor the reason the crusaders could succeed at all. He was a Maerist, and he grew up with hope because of what Maera had accomplished...”

“It's Braggi Tower,” Arvis corrected. “Every one knows that.”

Claude just shook his head. “If I told them the truth, what do you think would happen?”

“What are you trying to say, Claude? Don't rub it in.”

“I'm not...”

Claude looked genuinely defeated, but his other hand found the fist clenched at Arvis' side, and tried to take it. Arvis let him. He squeezed both Arvis' hands tightly, comfortingly, soothingly, pointlessly.

“I won't tell anyone,” he said quietly. He said it with such conviction that Arvis almost believed him. “You don't deserve to be harmed for something out of your control like that.”

“Claude. Be serious.”

“I-I am.”

The blond's eyebrows furrowed, his eyes clearly searching Arvis' for something he couldn't find. It was a pitiable face, like a confused puppy, and Arvis wanted to believe it was sincere at all.

“Lord Braggi told me you were the descendant of Saint Maera while I was praying. He... It is embarrassing, but he commended me for bringing you here and...”

Arvis didn't believe this at all. He felt as though he couldn't afford to. He wanted to. “And?”

Claude's face flushed adorably pink.

“Praying here... Allows me to glimpse the future. The truth. I ask questions, and I get answers...” Arvis already knew that. What he didn't know, Claude said next. “You've been aloof to me the entire time I've known you, but you were never cruel, and it... I wondered... I asked Lord Braggi if courting you was a wise decision.”

“What.”

Arvis couldn't keep the question from tumbling out, even if it barely sounded like one. Courting? Claude thought of _courtship_?

“I sound like a naive child, don't I?” He averted his gaze, smiling shyly. He looked beautiful. “But one may say his answer was giving his blessings, so...”

“You're kidding.” Point blank, Arvis couldn't believe it. “What kind of game are you playing here, Claude? Just send me to be burnt at the stake and let me die with dignity.”

“I'm not playing any game,” Claude replied. “You already know I'm no good at being anything but honest. ...What must I do to prove it to you?”

Could he do anything? Arvis could concede that point, at least. All the arguments against it came rushing together at once, and Arvis did not hold them back.

“You'll need a child,” was what he thought of first.

“I'll get one,” was Claude's confident answer. “Major blood makes inheritance easy, regardless of the circumstances of a child's birth, and no one would protest mixing bloodlines, since we're both men.”

“You've thought extensively about this.” Arvis had too. He came to the same conclusions, however pointless it had been to consider them.

The second argument did not come out so easily. It stuck in Arvis' throat, like a rock. He didn't want to ask it, because he feared the answer. Claude, ever patient, didn't say anything. He goaded it forward with silence and kind eyes and warm hands.

“Why don't I disgust you?”

Claude's patient gaze became surprised. But Arvis continued speaking.

“I've hidden this secret from you, and the world, since the moment I knew it was something so filthy. I've acted as though there was nothing about me so repulsive, as your friend and colleague. You've let me into your home, you've been a kind friend this entire time that I've been lying to you. I don't have any remorse for this. Aren't you disgusted at the very thought of... having shared a meal with me? With some one like me?”

“No.”

It was such a simple reply, and yet... Claude was genuine. His face was searching, imploring, and nothing but kind. He squeezed Arvis' hands in a way that was so openly reassuring. It was too dangerous to believe Claude truly meant it, but Arvis no longer had any choice in the matter. He did.

And the rock in his throat left his lips in the form of a sob. He tore his hands from Claude's to cover his mouth.

All this time of feeling as the gods had abandoned him came crashing down with a single word. He was immobilized.

Claude embraced him. He didn't have the strength to fight against it. Arvis found Claude's hair was soft, and smelt nice. He barely had a choice to bury his face into it, so he did. Claude allowed him this vulnerable moment, silent, warm. Even after Arvis was finished, he didn't move, and Claude didn't make him.


End file.
